"I'll be ready. Full tactical gear for both of us." A pause. "If you want to call in the Feds, I’ll stay behind."
"We do this together or not at all," he cut her off. "Someone needs to watch my six, and I trust you more than anyone else right now."
The admission hung between them for a heartbeat.
"Copy that," she said softly. "ETA?"
"Eight minutes."
"I'll be waiting."
As he drove through the waning light toward Knight Tactical, Cory considered the risks. Armed suspect in mental crisis. Remote location. Weather deteriorating. No backup because they couldn't risk the FBI turning this into a bloodbath.
On the plus side, he’d have one of the bravest humans—and seriously-skilled Special Forces soldiers—he’d ever known at his side.
He only hoped Izzy could say the same about him.
41
The mountain roadtwisted upward through the darkness like a snake made of ice and bad intentions. Izzy checked her Glock for the third time, the weight familiar and reassuring in the tactical holster. Snow spat against the windshield in bursts, and the moon played hide-and-seek behind scudding clouds—revealing the landscape in silver snapshots before plunging them back into darkness.
"Visibility's getting worse," she noted, adjusting her earpiece. The Knight Tactical comm unit sat perfectly, almost weightless. She'd grabbed two sets from the equipment room, along with everything else they might need for a mountain extraction. Or a takedown.
While Cory powered his SUV up the mountain, she texted her team, giving them the sitrep. The higher they climbed, the worse the reception, but one bar proved good enough to send the message.
Cory navigated the turns with steady precision, but she caught the tension in his jaw, the white-knuckled grip on the wheel. "Temperature's dropping too. If he's been up there over an hour..."
He didn't finish, but they both knew the math. Confused man plus freezing temperatures plus a rifle equaled potential tragedy.
Without warning, Cory eased off the gas and bowed his head slightly. His lips moved in silent prayer—quick, maybe ten seconds, but focused. One hand stayed on the wheel, the other rested on the console between them. The simple faith of it, offered without self-consciousness in the middle of their pursuit, made something twist in Izzy's chest.
When did that become comforting instead of awkward?
Her phone buzzed with incoming texts. She read them aloud to keep Cory updated:
"Ronan says they landed in Denver. Refueling now."
Another buzz. "Deke wants to know if they should divert here instead of heading home."
She typed back quickly:
Negative. Fraser and I got this. Be home for pageant.
"Por favor, Dios, let that be true," she whispered.
More messages flooded in:
Maya:No way we miss that.
Axel: Just a note for Mr. Chief Man.Anyone who hurts our girl answers to us
The fierce protectiveness in Axel's text made her throat tight. But it was Kenji's message that stopped her cold:
Kenji: Despite what Meat-head Axel thinks, Cory's good people. He’s got your six. Trust him.
She glanced at Cory's profile, lit by the dashboard glow. Focused. Steady. Breaking every protocol to help her save a confused old man who might be a killer.
I do trust him,she realized with a jolt.When did that happen?
